Old village records describe a large communal gong that rang whenever important tasks were forgotten, a public reminder system with no off switch and excellent timing. It was intended for missed bread in ovens, unattended livestock, and overdue repairs, but it quickly became the loudest local tradition.
Ledger entries note the gong rang constantly, including during naps, weddings, and long conversations about how quiet things used to be. One clerk’s margin note reads only, “again,” followed by a smudged fingerprint and what appears to be a resigned dot.
Investigators found the striker rope frayed yet polished smooth from frequent use, suggesting heavy civic participation or very anxious accountability. The bronze surface shows layered handprints at shoulder height, as if people kept checking whether it was, in fact, still a gong and not a shared hallucination.
Near the wooden frame sits a woven basket labeled “returned excuses,” kept mysteriously full. The slips inside are folded into tidy squares, many creased twice, as if the village tried multiple formats for “I got distracted” and none were accepted.
A forgotten loaf on a distant windowsill appears in several surviving sketches of the square, always in the same spot, always looking accused. Villagers in later accounts are described as pausing mid-step at the first tremor, then resuming their work with the careful speed of people who have learned the gong’s patience is infinite.
“No one needs to admit what it detects, the instrument is tuned to omission, and omission is very talkative,” said Elspeth Rill, archivist at the Bureau of Communal Accountability. No further mechanism has been identified; the gong simply continued being correct.
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